


please don't say you love me

by fairytelling



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by Taylor Swift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22134463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytelling/pseuds/fairytelling
Summary: I think you’re afraid. You’re just afraid because for the first time you want me just as bad as I want you.”or, how you win back your ex-boyfriend by releasing an album aptly titled ‘sorry, i love you and you didn’t reply to my drunk texts’One-shot based on this request: I was wondering if you could do something based on Taylor Swift's song "Back to December" - so here’s another fic inspired by Taylor Swift’s entire discography
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor)/Reader, Chris Evans (Actor)/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 56





	please don't say you love me

You are definitely toeing the line between grand, romantic gesture and something _invasive, out of line and desperate._

Chris is a romantic. At least, he had been. He’ll appreciate the gesture, _you hope._

But, god, anything is better than listening to his voicemail and then quickly hanging up before leaving a message — because the sound of his voice sets off the tears off again. And you can’t leave any more drunk texts of _I miss you, I just want to talk._

You have no right to be this upset and be the offending party. Serves you right for simultaneously being in love with the idea of love and deathly afraid of commitment. You’re flesh, bone and contradictions.

You can’t have your cake and eat it too.

And that’s what’s led to this mess of your own making, a broken heart and the inevitable breakup album that follows. Your music has always been personal, but _shit_ this is raw, unfiltered, like publishing the pages of your diary. You’re so much better at articulating yourself with lyrics and music.

So, maybe you’ll be able to tell Chris all the things you never said via these ten, measly songs.

Subtlety out the window, no effort at coded messages, you’ve just dropped your fourth album, with no advertising, no promotional singles. Aptly titled _sorry, i love you and you didn’t reply to my drunk texts._ For once, you’re not nervous about release numbers, reviews or award nominations. 

This album has an intended audience of one and he might not even listen to it.

***

_You weren’t sure if this was a ploy to keep you in bed, but even in the depths of winter — Chris never turned on his central heating. His bedroom was always icy cold. So, as the winter sun rose, bright crisp light filtering into his room, you nestled closer into his side. Anything for the body warmth, you’d tell yourself, any excuse to get close._

_He rolled over to turn off his alarm._

_“Do you really have to go to the gym?” You asked, trying not to sound too needy, too whiny, too much._

_“Are you going to miss me?”_

_You pouted. “No, it’s just-.”_

_“Just…” His fingers traced delicate shapes on your arm — last time, you’d played this game he traced a dick on your back._

_“It’s cold.” You huffed._

_“Well damn, Jackie, I can’t control the weather.”_

_You rolled your eyes. “You’re like a frickin' space heater and I for one would like to spend all day in bed today.”_

_“Don’t you have rehearsal?”_

_You groaned, both at his reminder and the loss of contact as he clambers out of the bed. You didn’t bother to hide your staring, as you watched him fumble around the room, trying to find wherever you’d thrown his underwear. He was all muscle and movement, a sculpture worthy of the likes of Michelangelo and Bernini._

_“Yeah and wardrobe - I’m not in the mood for a stadium tour at all.”_

_“How long is your tour, again?”_

_“North American leg is January to March and then June - July to Europe. I don’t even know I think Asia and South America at some point towards the end of the year.”_

_“Well, at least I’ll get to see you live — maybe you’ll even dedicate a song for me.”_

_“Keep dreaming, lover boy.”_

_His eyes caught yours. It was scary how he could strip you down with just his eyes._

_He shuffled back to the bed, perching himself on the edge. His hands found yours, and he gave you a gentle squeeze. The pad of his thumb rubbed delicate circles over your wrist._

_“Move in with me?” He asked. “When you come back, or I could move in with you in your place in LA. But, come live in Mass or tell me where you’re want to live and we’ll find a middle ground.”_

_Your mouth felt dry like cotton. You wondered if he could feel your hands trembling or sweating._

_This is… too good to be true._

_“I didn’t mean to spring it on you like this, I had planned to wine and dine you, but you’re going on tour and I don’t want you leaving without telling you how I feel—.”_

_“Chris,” you interjected, voice hoarse, heart racing._

_“I love you.”_

_Your eyes widened and you opened your mouth, struggling to speak. “I, I—.”_

_It should have been so easy to say._

_It was on the tip of your tongue._

_Except, you extricated your hands from his, throwing the blanket off. You didn't even react to the cold or the frosty atmosphere you’ve created._

_This summer fling needed to come to an end._

_“I—, I need to go, this is too much, too fast and I—.”_

_“Are you really leaving?” You heard his voice from behind you, but you didn't dare turn around. “I think you’re afraid. You’re just afraid because for the first time you want me just as bad as I want you.”_

_Nausea crawled up from your belly. How could he read you like that? There’re two types of nudity: physical and emotional. And you’ve never managed both with one person._

_After you scurried out of Chris’ place, no doubt leaving him stunned, confused and... heartbroken, you hopped in your car. And as you drove away, directionless, his house in the rearview mirror, your mind dwelled on a quote from Slaughterhouse-Five about Lot’s wife. ‘But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human.’_

***

You keep fidgeting, tugging at your outfit. You’d agreed on only a couple of press interviews, a quick tour of radio stations, two late-night performances and then you were putting this body of work into a glass bottle, letting it out to sea and praying it lands on the right ears.

“So, we are here today on Beats One with one of the world’s biggest popstars, Y/F/N Y/L/N, who has just dropped her fourth studio album.”

“Hi,” you reply to the interviewer, fixing your headphones.

“So glad to have you here,” Zane Lowe says, smiling. “So you dropped this album with absolutely no warning, no singles, you’re still on tour for your last album - so what’s brought this all on?”

“Umm, so this album is exactly what you think it is— a broken heart is a great muse.”

“So you called it _sorry, i love you and you didn’t reply to my drunk texts_ \- so are we to assume that this is written with a particular person in mind?”

Feet tapping on the floor, you can’t help but smile as Chris crosses your mind (not that he ever left).

“I ended, well better yet, sabotaged a relationship that was I don’t want to say was perfect, but I was confident that he was the one and I guess that scared me - so this album is my grand romantic gesture apologising.”

“Have you heard anything from the person you wrote it for?”

You shake your head. “The album cover is just a picture of the physical copy that I actually mailed to them. I mean, I don’t really expect a response — I just wanted to say sorry and at least I can get closure for apologising for what I did.”

He nods. “And the million-dollar question that everyone’s asking - who is the album about? Has anybody guessed correctly?”

You let out a strained laugh. “I think a few people on Twitter have got it. But, umm, I’m gonna play my cards close to my chest — unless that person says something in public, I’m not gonna say their name. They know it’s about them and that’s all that really matters. And I’m donating all proceeds to charity— I know this feels like a gimmicky publicity stunt, but I’m checking my phone every minute to see if they’ve responded.”

“Okay, so we’re gonna take a break but we’re going to play _Back to December —_ which has shot up in the charts and is now number 1 in the US and Canada.”

***

_Self-sabotage is the mental equivalent of doing heroin. You shoot up, the high of it is so sweet and then you crash as you come down. You’ve always loved the rollercoaster, the rise and fall, the breakups and the meet-cutes. It’s what’s fuelled you for years, the inspiration behind your award-winning albums and songs._

_And, so it was a week into the tour that you were hit by the biggest comedown._

_You didn’t doubt that you love Chris. That was never the issue._

_And you didn’t doubt the sincerity of his love for you. He was like the sun; he had this ability to brighten and illuminate the beauty in things._

_A verse from a poem by Rudy Francisco that you’ve always loved, but never been able to pinpoint slammed into you like divine revelation._

_‘That's also why I tend to fall in love with women_ _/ Who would never love me back / I know it sounds crazy, but it's actually much easier than it seems / And to be honest, I think it's safer that way / See relationships, they often remind me that I'm not afraid of heights or falling / But I'm scared of what's gonna happen / The moment that my body hits the ground / I'm clumsy. Yesterday, I tripped over my self-esteem/ I landed on my pride and it shattered like an iPhone with a broken face / Now I can't even tell who's trying to give me a compliment’_

***

_sorry, i love you and you didn’t reply to my drunk texts_

  1. Treacherous
  2. False God
  3. Afterglow
  4. Back to December
  5. Dancing with our Hands Tied
  6. Death by a Thousand Cuts
  7. All Too Well
  8. I Wish You Would
  9. Wildest Dream
  10. Mine



Dear Chris,

We all know that I’m shit with words - I guess I wanted to say sorry and let you know that despite my actions and the fact that I never had the balls to say it — I love you.

I hope you don’t look back at our time together and regret it all, because I’d do it again and I’d try to do everything right.

Y/N

***

_Chris’ house in Boston was beautiful. It’s the perfect size for a family, it’s the perfect location. There was only one thing wrong about it._

_It wasn’t a home._

_Not yet._

_It was a colouring book, the outline was there, but it yearned to be filled. It was hard not to walk past the empty rooms and think wouldn’t they make a good room for kids. And there was a door frame, that was asking to have kids’ heights marked on it. There was a room that you could probably turn into a makeshift studio and and and … your imagination went wild. The possibilities were endless._

_You pinched your eyes shut, trying to reel your thoughts back in. It had been four and a bit months and you were ready to decorate the kids' bedrooms._

_You...needed to slow down. You’d always been reckless, you’d always liked heights and the feeling of falling. It was hard when you were playing house like this. Chris had surprised his sister and her husband with a romantic weekend away at the Cape, all expenses paid and he’d offered the pair of you as childcare._

_So that was how you ended up with three rambunctious kids under the age of ten for a long weekend. So while he was running around the yard with all three of them and Dodger, you made lunch._

_“Come on in, you guys,” you yelled, across the open patio doors._

_They raced Chris back and hilariously, he let them win. His slow-motion running had you in stitches as you set the table. Dodger nudged at your leg, and you patted his head._

_“Oh, vegetables.” His niece wrinkled her nose._

_Chris sent you a knowing look as if to say ‘How are you gonna manage that?’ You returned a confident, flippant look because you had this planned._

_“These are the best vegetables you’ll ever have in your entire life,” you said._

_Chris took a bite. “Holy fucking sh-.”_

_You kicked him under the table. He groaned, grabbing at his shin._

_“Uncle Chris said a bad word!”_

_“Yeah, Mom would make Dad put a dollar in the swear jar if he said that!”_

_“You’re right, it’s a horrible word,” you echoed the kids, “and we really shouldn’t be using it around young impressionable children.”_

_And with a little coaxing, a little singing and sugar (candying the veg had always been a family trick), everyone’s food disappeared._

_The evening ended with a movie, you settle on Meet the Robinson’s. The movie was wonderful, but the company was better. Your head rested on Chris’ shoulder, his niece was sprawled on your lap as you brushed her hair. Even Dodger was watching the moving intently._

_It was the perfect picture of domesticity. It’s what you’ve craved for years._

_After that, you battled your way through the bedtime routine. And just when you thought you’d won, you learnt that Uncle Chris is famous for long, dramatic bedtime stories. Unfortunately, you didn’t get to escape._

_The bedtime story involved the kids giving Chris key plot points, which he then half-narrated, half acted out. Except, the plot points from the three of them conflicted. You’re were a princess who’d been cursed into being a dragon, who breathes lava and fire, Chris was a warrior knight, who’d also been cursed, but his curse was that he could only speak in pig Latin to the dragon princess he loved._

_Finally ready to sleep, you crashed on Chris’ bed. He threw himself onto the mattress, pulling you into his side. You slotted into the space between his arms perfectly._

_“That was fun,” he said._

_“That was tiring.”_

_“You’re good with kids,” he started and you inhaled sharply, because you could feel it. He was going to say something that was going to freak you out. “I think we could totally kick ass this parenting thing.”_

_You hummed noncommittally, before faking a yawn. You tucked your head into his shoulder, pretending as if you were about to doze off._

_It was so stupid, why couldn’t you just tell him the truth? Why couldn’t you tell him that you’ve been daydreaming of just that? How could someone who loves to fall, hate landing so much? Who purposefully dives without wearing a parachute?_

***

The media circus hits. You nearly get torn apart as you go grocery shopping. You’re trending on twitter and your agent says that you’re on track for 3 singles in the top five and a number one album and—. 

And nothing.

No inkling of a response, no indication that he’s heard it. Or worse yet; he’s heard it and he’s moved on. He seems awfully cosy with his new female co-star and she’s probably beautiful and probably emotionally literate in ways that you’re not.

That’s not to say that your phone is silent — it’s going off. There’s a mixture of texts, angry acquaintances who feel out of the loop, baffled family members and supportive friends.

You’ve got four missed calls from Blake, so you call her back. She insists that you come over for dinner, so she can coddle you. 

The drive to Pound Ridge is long. You end up listening to NPR, the last thing you want to hear is your own music. The news is equally as depressing, but it gets you out of your head.

As soon as you pull into the driveway, the door flings open and there’s a pensive looking Blake, lips pressed together, arms open.

“Oh, god, are you okay?” She asks, pulling you into a tight hug.

You shrug. “I don’t know what I was expecting to happen. 

“For him to call?” she supplies easily.

“Maybe?” You say, voice still unshaken and unsteady. “It’ll blow over.”

“I baked if that’ll cheer you up.”

She offers you a plate of brownies, which you immediately stuff into your mouth. 

“It’ll be fine. Remember how torn up I was when I was filming Green Lantern,” she says with confidence. “What’s meant to be will always find its way.”

***

_Chace and Seb were in the middle of roasting you, when you first met Chris Evans. You were scowling, arms folded across your chest as the two of them go in. You’d known these two idiots for forever now, they’re practically your brothers, so they know a bit too much. Chace was recounting a story from a particularly harrowing night you’d had in New York, which had ended with you getting stitches in the ER._

_“And then you threw up—.” Chace’s words come to a sudden halt when you elbowed him. Chris Evans, the one and only Captain America, was lingering behind Sebastian, clearly wanting to say hi._

_The pair immediately pulled each other into a ‘bro hug’. The half-arsed display of affection._

_“Hey, Chris, you know Chace already and this is—.”_

_“Y/N, I haven’t been living under a rock,” he said, holding out his hand._

_“Nice to finally meet the person who’s been stealing my best friend,” you say, smiling as you shake his hand back._

_“I think you’ll find he’s my best friend now,” Chris replied with a smile._

_“I think you’ll find you stole my blue sweater last week.”_

_Chris’ eyes flittered between the two of you, before settling on Seb. “I thought it was yours, I’ve seen you wear it.”_

_Seb shrugged. “Sometimes I wear her clothes, sometimes she wears mine.”_

_“I’ll get it back to you,” he promised._

_“It’s no big deal.”_

***

It’s Ryan’s birthday party. And the party is star-studded, there’s Hugh Jackman in one corner. One of your many exes’ in one corner, Jake Gyllenhaal.

But you’re over that. Way over that. 

But you’re not over Chris.

It feels like a punch to the gut, seeing Chris. A swarm of butterflies twist and contort in your belly. Eyes wide with panic, you turn to Blake. Mouth dry and tongue heavy, you’re unable to form any words.

“We didn’t want you to flake if we told you he was coming,” she says, a little smile on her lips as she tilts her head.

“Oh, okay,” you croak. Your brain is completely malfunctioning — _who, what, where, how, why?_

_Why is he here?_

“You know you love me,” Blake says as she puts her hand on yours. You blow off a frustrated sigh, trying not to laugh at her terrible joke. The two of you had been best friends since you starred in Gossip Girl.

“Did I just hear a GG reference?” You feel Sebastian’s arm wrap around your shoulder before you hear him.

“Don’t pretend you’re innocent,” you say as you try to shrug Sebastian away. He laughs and holds you a little tighter.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He smirks his signature smirk.

You huff and fold your arms across your chest. “No, I got you in the break-up. Sure you guys did some movies together, but we survived the CW together, that’s way more emotional turmoil than playing Captain America and the Winter Soldier.”

“Has he listened to the album?” Blake asks.

You shrug. “If he has, he doesn’t want to talk about it.” 

You chat to lots of people, lots of them congratulating you on a chart-topping album. For a while, you catch a break by eating cake with your two goddaughters. 

Eventually, you bump into Chris at the drinks table, you’re pouring yourself another glass of wine so you can survive this party. And he looks... _he still looks good_. He’s got his beard trimmed the way you like it. His hair is almost too long, it radiates Prince Charming vibes.

“Hey,” he says. “Hope your tour is going well!”

It’s so bland and polite. There’s not even a speck of emotion behind his eyes.

“It’s, umm, alright,” you say. “I hope your family is doing well and of course Dodger.” 

“Dodger misses you,” he says, before taking a swig of his Aviation Gin and Tonic. 

“I watched Knives Out — it was amazing.”

You’re about to say everything. _I miss you. I love you. Did you listen to the album? What did you think? Does it change anything?_

“Thanks.” He pauses and you think this is the perfect point to slip it in, but he doesn’t. “Well, it was good to see you.” He nods his head, before disappearing into the party.

Now you understand why indifference is the opposite of love.

***

_This must have been date number six or seven. You weren’t counting, it would have been hard to. You were quickly becoming inseparable._

_You were sitting on the floor of his living room, couches pushed back to accommodate for the make-shift dance floor._

_You were still a bit dizzy from spinning around. Music was playing from Chris’ speakers. He had his library on shuffle, so far, you’d been impressed and horrified by the range of music. The transition between Under the Sea from The Little Mermaid to Prince’s Purple Rain had thrown you off._

_But then you hear your own voice. Your eyes narrowed as Chris held up his hands guiltily._

_“I may have bought all of your albums. Aaaand, I’m obsessed.”_

_You laughed, throwing your head back. “You don’t have to flatter me.”_

_“I’m not, my favourite song is Starlight,” he said serious, voice full of conviction._

_Funny that he chooses a track that you love, even if no one else has an affinity for it._

_“Why?” You asked._

_The song had a special place in your heart, it was personal in a way some of your other songs were not. It wasn’t about a break-up or crush you’ve had._

_You expected a flippant comment, like the beat or the lyrics. But he surprised you._

_“It’s kind of about love at first sight, not that you’re in love, but you fall in love with the possibility of loving that person.”_

_“The song is about my grandparents,” you told him, “I saw a picture of them, when they’d just met and my grandmother used to always tell me stories about how they met and fell in love and how they just knew.”_

_“That’s amazing.”_

_“I guess that growing up with my parents and their dysfunctional relationship, I kind of held up my grandparents as an example of what I thought romance and love should be. They were so smitten with each other, I was in love with how in love they were. Even after all those years.”_

_Chris smiled at you. He had an amazing talent of making you feel listened to, you couldn't pinpoint how he does it, but he does._

_“It sounds silly,” he said, and Jesus Christ, Chris was blushing, eyes flickering around the room like he’s too shy to make eye contact, “but the song reminds me of how I felt when I met you.”_

_You’re not good with words if they’re not lyrics, but your hands took hold of his face and you pulled him in for a kiss. You could feel his smile against yours, before you caught his lips._

_When you got home, the song wrote itself._

_(Do you remember, we were sittin', there by the water? / You put your arm around me for the first time / You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter / You are the best thing that's ever been mine)_

***

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, deep breaths. You’ve never had stage fright this bad before - sure, you’ve done a world stadium tour, you’ve done SNL, you’ve even done Fallon twice before — but this is horrifying. Butterflies in your belly, palms sweaty. The lyrics of Lose Yourself by Eminem, for some Godforsaken reason, keeps running in your head.

You’ve decided on a stripped-back performance. A simple outfit — _the blue sweater_ and skinny jeans, a stool and microphone, and just you and your guitar. 

And as you predicted, your voice cracks and the HD cameras are no doubt picking up the tears in your eyes.

( _So this is me swallowing my pride / Standing in front of you saying I'm sorry for that night_ )

The worst part it is, within three hours, your publicist is messaging you articles about how your vulnerability and honesty in your music is refreshing and wonderful.

And _okay, great, cool, whatever._

But there’s not a blue dot next to the one person who matters in your phone.

***

_You’d never really been to Boston. You’d been for a work thing here or there, but genuinely spent time in the city — you’d never done that. You grabbed an Uber from the airport, keeping it lowkey as possible. You wore a cap, sunglasses and prayed to God that you didn’t get caught by any of your fans. You love them to bits, but you wanted to keep things with Chris as under wraps as possible._

_You felt nervous._

_For the first three months of your relationship, you were both been based in LA. And so far, you’d only met his brother, Scott. It just so happens that Scott and his boyfriend were pretty big fans of your music._

_But you were absolutely bricking it to meet his mom. If she didn’t like you, it’d be game over._

_The drive from the airport was long and it gave you plenty of time for your thoughts to torture you. Soon, you found yourself lost in the perfect streets of New England suburbia._

_You were meeting him at his mom’s house and you were still digging for bills to pay the taxi driver, when he rolled out and grabbed your bags. And in a feat of agility, whilst holding your bag, he pulled you into a tight hug and went in for a quick, chaste kiss._

_“Missed you,” he said into your ear, before pulling away._

_You shrugged. “I guess I missed you too.”_

_He laughed, before judging you towards the open front door._

_“They’re going to love you,” he promised._

_But what he failed to warn you about is how much you were going to love them._

***

It happens when you least expect it — two solid months have passed since you released your album, you’ve finished touring and you’re at home, trying to catch up with a normal life. You’ve been writing slowly, couch surfing and volunteering on a thousand and one projects. 

And you’re seeing a therapist to talk about your commitment issues.

You’re spread out on the floor of your living room, keyboard, laptop and synthesiser as you work on a song.

_Don’t blame me, love made me crazy_

The doorbell rings.

Clueless, you walk to the door — wearing a large t-shirt, gym shorts that have never seen a gym and hair messier than its usual messy state and _there he is._ Standing at your door, eyes bright and blue, staring right at you in that way only Chris can see you.

Your throat constricts, heart races and all the feelings that had finally ebbed away, flood back in with the tide. 

“Hi,” you finally say, lips moving on their own accord. “I’m sorry - I never meant for-.”

And you never finish your perfectly crafted apology which you’ve drafted over and over in your mind, because his lips meet yours. His hands find your hips and yours dive into his hair. Your fingers clutch and scrape at the base of his scalp. 

You can taste the desperation in the kiss, but also the sweetness of being reunited. Chris spins you round and presses you against the wall. You’re hyper-aware of everything, the feeling of his calloused fingers slipping against your ass and the back of your legs, your thighs clutching at his waist, his tongue in your mouth. 

When you pull back, you giggle. 

“This is ridiculous,” You breathe out when your mouths finally disconnect. All those months of longing and missing him and you can’t even remember all the things you want to say.

“Ridiculous,” he echoes, before diving in for another kiss. He kisses you senseless and breathless.  
  
“I love you, I just wanted you to know that,” you say _finally._

“Move in with me?” He murmurs against your mouth, picking up exactly where you’d left off. “Please.”

There’s no hesitation, not even a flicker of doubt.

“I’d love to.”

***

_You were in the middle of a chaotic writing session. You had chords, a melody and lyrics, but they didn’t belong together. You nearly slammed your head through your Casio. Your mind was a mess and so was your apartment. There was sheet music littered everywhere, empty cups of water and all your equipment was spread out in your living room._

_(You really ought to have committed to building that home studio.)_

_A faint knock on the door startled you. You stumbled over a glass of water, spilling it all over yesterday’s shitty lyrics. You huffed, swore and groaned, before throwing the door open._

_“Hi,” you said breathlessly._

_It took a second to register that it was Chris Evans standing at your door. He seemed calm, collected as he held up a dry-cleaning bag._

_“Hi, I hope you don’t mind, Sebastian gave me your address so I could give you back your sweater.”_

_You smiled._

_“Oh my god, you didn’t have to. Thanks so much — I’m so sorry you didn’t have to go out of your way.”_

_“I wanted to,” he said simply. There was something about his openness and earnestness that hooked you right in._

_“Do you…,” you hummed to yourself for a second, thinking, did you want him to come in? Did you want to flirt with him? With the idea of him? “Want to come in for coffee?”_

_“I’d love to.”_

_“I’d tell you that it’s a mess because I wasn’t expecting anyone, but it’d look like this even if I knew you were coming.”_

_“It looks like organised chaos,” he offered, an adorable lopsided grin on his face._

_It was hard not to smile back. There was a warmth to his presence that you couldn’t quite pinpoint; it was like basking in sunlight._

_“You’re terribly polite.” You turned around, took a deep breath to catch yourself — because it always started like this. A little niggle here, one smile from a cute boy and you’d be a goner. You always fell too fast, creating fantasies and worlds with characters that resemble the people you met. The last thing the world needed was another song from you, crooning about how your false expectations weren’t met._

_“So, you’re writing at the moment?” He asked, taking a seat on the counter._

_“Struggling to, I’ve got horrendous writer’s block at the moment, you’ve come at the perfect time, I needed a break before I hulked out on my keyboard.”_

_“Searching for inspiration?” He asked again. You took in the sight of him, glancing back over your shoulder; there he was sitting in your tiny kitchen, legs swinging back and forth. He looked like he belonged there._

_“I’ve been staunchly single for the last year — no break-ups to cry about.” You tapped your fingers against the counter, waiting for the coffee beans to finish grinding._

_“Was your last break up that bad?”_

_You laughed. “Oh, you must not have heard the last album?”_

_He shook his head. “I don’t keep up with music. It’s not that I dislike—.”_

_“Hey, don't apologise. I can admit to not having watched all your movies.”_

_“That’s embarrassing — I’ve watched all of yours.”_

_Your chest tightened._

_“No you haven’t — nobody has watched Yellow Boat.” You rolled your eyes, straight after Gossip Girl — almost all of you had struggled to establish a meaningful acting career. While your music had taken off, acting had been another matter. You’d done a string of indie movies — most of which got glowing reviews, which meant shit when nobody’s watched the film._

_“I have and it was fucking phenomenal,” he said._

_You narrowed your eyes. “Really?”_

_He hummed in response. “It was a masterpiece.”_

_Quick to deflect the compliment, you changed the topic of conversation. “Milk? Sugar?”_

_He nodded to both and you let him serve it out himself. Sitting across from him, you sipped at your coffee, scalding the roof of your mouth._

_“Well, if we’re on the topic of admiration — What’s Your Number is one of my favourite movies.”_

_He laughed, throwing his head back. “No fucking way.”_

_“Absolutely! You, Anna Farris.” You mimic a chef's kiss. “C’est magnifique!”_

_It was funny how the conversation flowed_ _so naturally, how what was meant to be a fifteen-minute coffee turned into a two-and-a-half-hour conversation about where you wanted your careers to progress, an exchange of embarrassing stories about Sebastian and how the fact you both had terrible track records with relationships._

_It was only after that he left that you realised that he never gave back the sweater._

_You giggled, clutching your phone, now that you had the perfect excuse to text him. You didn’t want to get ahead of yourself, but it felt like the perfect beginning._

**Author's Note:**

> i got this request over 6 months ago lol - i hope you love this little story as much as i love it! the usual applies - kudos and comments are all welcome.
> 
> All songs mentioned in this fic are obviously by taylor swift. the poem mentioned is called my honesty poem by rudy francisco - check out his spoken word and his book called helium.


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